Forsaken
by ChikaneChan16
Summary: Tudor england will feel the wrath of their suspertitions, and so will the village of the damned. .


Forsaken (uncompleted)

To Discover evil within the beauty,

Is To discover hell on earth…

_A/N ok this is my first story, urm, let me know whatcha think dudees. :)_

_Also, im aware the layout is different on here compared to word. You will notice 'Merchant' and 'Smith' above each "chapter". These are the surnames of the two main characters talking, one of those books yanno? :P dunot get confused XD_

'_When we start killing  
It all will be falling down  
from the hell that we're in  
All we are is fading away  
When we start killing__**'**_

The Howling: Within Temptation

Prologue

Both of them continued to fight, the clash of their swords flashing like sparks before them. It was as though they were dancing instead of quarrelling. Rosalina continued to taunt her opponent,

"Well done, Francis," He snarled at her, his blood pulsing through his veins. Why did they come to fight, these two lovers? Francis asked a similar question each time he leapt at his wife with his sword, but missing her each time. She managed to dash from each side of the field, the moons light helping to shield her as she did so. Francis could hear her sharp cackles each time he failed to plunder her,

"You were doing so well." Her voice was coming from behind him now. Why was it that only Francis found this feud upsetting? He stood silent, almost collapsing to the ground. He didn't want to fight her… he never wanted to. Yet she wanted his death so much,

"Why must you hurt me, Rose?" he whispered through tears. She lifted her sword to her lover's throat, kissing his cheek tenderly,

"Understand that I need to…" She whispered back solemnly. As he swallowed hard nervously, he could feel his throat stroke the blade of her sword,

"But why this cruelty?" Francis could sense the pain flickering in her eyes… her silence burdening his ear with more questions… more pain. Rosalina sighed heavily,

"Francis, I'm going to hurt you. Would you mind if I killed you, even?" her voice was thick with regret, yet she forced some form of twisted humour through her clenched teeth. The sword she held to Francis' throat was becoming tighter, only just cutting into his flesh,

"I want _you_ to die_, _instead of _me._" Rosalina hissed. That's when it happened. The blood began to boil throughout his blackened heart, the pain reviving in his soul as revenge. This feud that had confused him so since that day… now came down to this. He loved her… yet she didn't seem to love him anymore. She wanted his blood, his _death._ Without even thinking, as though an instinct from within, Francis spun on his heeled, his own sword poised…. The plunge echoing throughout the night's sky. He'd missed the dark angel of his that taunted him,

"I've tried to understand the demons in your head," he snarled furiously,

"But the truth is you want my death" she cut past him, her sword ripping through the void of the air as she failed to strike him. Rosalina dipped her head bitterly,

"This is the last time I have will try, to lift you up and make you fight" she glared at him,

"I won't change for you if you don't have the will deep inside" She pounced at him again, her sword dropping to the ground as his plunged through her heart. He'd killed her…

Rosalina's eyes stared up at him, blood crawling from her mouth as she spoke for the last time… speaking to tell the one she loved the forsaken truth.

1533

Merchant

The rain continued to stab viciously at my window, each lightening bolt that shot past made my chamber flash like a star. The weather suited my mood – miserable. Here I was, a girl, no, a _child_ of 14 years of age, with a family in ruins and a life no longer mine to keep. And no matter how miserable the weather was, now was the only time I could find some sort of peace from it all. Each day, I seclude myself in the privacy of my bedchamber, to come and sit here on my windowsill and wait for the dawn of the night sky, to see the moon appear in the clear skies above.

And it is here I stay for the whole night. In silence, recollecting my life so far. And lets see… it is as good as wasted, so far. I am the second of three daughters to the noble Merchant family of England. I was placed in tight corsets and bodices from the age of six, with strict and broad teachings and education. I am lucky; I guess, to not be paraded around the English court, like I have heard many lasses my age are in this time and age. I also heard it is just for the good of their ambitious and wealth grabbing families. So in some ways, my life is in some small way fortunate. It is foolish for me to have thought once upon a time that, my eldest sister, Elizabeth, would inherit the family wealth. And it's attachments. After all, she seemed so keen to have it in her clutches. But then father fell ill, from the sweat, and died no more than a couple of days later. Though we grieved, we mourned more for our own wealth fare. We did not know what would happen to us, and my kind old mother soon became depressed from worrying about it all. She soon died, but from the plague. I still mourn for her now; she was a person I cared for deeply (unlike father).

But Elizabeth? I guess she became fearful with fright of inheritance issues and such. It was just 10 days ago she disappeared, and although I tried my best to find her, I couldn't. I asked about her around the village, no one had seen sight of her since. Something scarier happened after just 3 days of asking them, they couldn't remember her, as though she had just vanished, although she never really… well… existed. So, I described her to them all, long flowing blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin, a pretty heart-shaped face. Nothing. She vanished.

I suppose that is another reason I sit on my windowsill each night. My bedchamber overlooks the whole of the village of Moonstone. The village is shaped like a star, five points reaching to the border of the forsaken forest that circles all around us.

The north point is the graveyard, where my beloved parents lay peacefully in their tombs. The Eastern point is the angel showers, a waterfall that tumbles into a river that flows into the heart of the forest. Some way from it is the third point of the star, a part of the forest that was burnt to the ground some centuries ago.

According to village legend, a notorious witch was burnt there, and her last words were a curse, that sent the trees around her burning body ablaze. When you look west from this window, you can just about see the fields of tundra. A large field that of dew covered grass, that often lays under a blanket of frost when the moon rises. I rode my horse out there once, as a child, in the brink of breaking dawn, and I remember the skies looking so divine, the moon surrounded by fading stars. And finally, the fifth point of our village, well… no one quite knows. A large space of land hidden by mist of dawn, and fog of the night, or so I am told.

The village of Moonstone. Yet after six searches, my sister is no where to be seen…

The rain had stopped, the moon had reached its highest in the sky, the wolves howled hungrily in the distance, I sat crouched knowing what I had to do. Declare my missing sister dead.

Although, in my heart, I know for certain she is not…

She is out there, beyond this very window. And I will meet her again someday… I am certain.

1 year later

1534

The 43rd year of Our Sovereign King Henry 8th

Spring

Smith

Though I was certain I was alone in the chapel, I remained still and silent, my hands clasped together as though I was _actually_ praying. Through my black veil, I could not see the goodly priest anywhere in sight. Lent. I was praying during the season of lent. A period of strict praying and fasting before Easter, to represent the time our saviour Jesus Christ had spent in the desert, and endured sweet temptations from Satan. I pray not for Lent, for if I did, I would be a hypocrite. No, no. I pray for _my_ saviour, whom I devote myself to fully.

I opened my eyes from my _true_ prayer, and squinted slightly from the sunlight that was pouring through the stained glass windows above, which seemed to tower over me. I gestured my hand into a cross across my body, and kissed my black rosary beads softly. I rose slowly from the pew, the skirt of my black gown tumbling my feet, creased slightly from the way I knelt.

I turned on my feet, and swiftly made my way out of the chapel. The sun shining down on me, I felt as though my skin was burning. A few elderly ladies stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw me. They whispered amongst themselves, and I knew at once they were talking about my damaged appearance. My pale white skin, purple from bruising. Scabby scratch marks dominating my left cheek. I wanted to hiss at them, and bare my sharp teeth, for this insult. But I couldn't. Each day, any brutal offence given by me would be my death. So I simply removed my veil, and bared a sweet smile, a courtier's smile I was taught as a child. They smiled back, of course, and my sharp ears heard their continuous bickering as I walked away.

I face this everyday, and I tire of it. It is amusing how they do not recollect my smile, since they did know me – once. I knew those ladies, the old baker's wife, Mary. Odette, the Farmers lass, and Mrs Alice Taylor. I knew those ladies, and they once knew me.

But they chose to ignore me, and so I choose to ignore them. Instead, I find amusement in the fact they cannot place me, and so, instead, speak about me instead.

"Bessie Smith" They must say, "Bruised and battered" They must say, "Dangerous" is what they _should_ be saying.

But they don't, because they don't know. They know a name; they know a face, not a person. They know _my_ name, _my _face, but not _me_. And for their sakes, they should be glad, no, honoured. If they whisper about me again, it may just be the last time.

So, I walked away, with my fists clenched to relive a little of my anger. I walked past the entrance to the fields of tundra, further and further until I reached it, the land of the damned – so they call it. Although, there is hardly any land here. Just air. Below all the mist, is a large pit, hidden by darkness and fog?

I climbed into the pit with care, my feet and hands reaching for wholes in the dirt and crushed bones. _Crunch!_ I'd made it down to the bottom, safely.

I was in a deep black whole, massive and cold, a large dirty pit. I could hardly see anything in the distorted rays of sunlight peering through the fog that floated many feet above my head. The fire, I could see, had not long burnt out. Around me slept the bodies of the other mistresses, my friends, and sisters by bond not blood. One, Tilly, stirred as she heard my footsteps approach her. Like the flicker of a candle, her black eyes shot open. This startled me slightly, she giggled under her breath,

"Why laugh Tilly?" I asked her sternly. My serious tone alarmed her, but she did her best to keep a calm face. I could tell by the way she hesitated she understood what I meant. There was a long pause; finally she cleared her throat,

"Never mind" She replied quietly. Tilly sat up to stretch, her hands reaching into the sky like hungry claws, her black hair tumbling around her, framing her long face perfectly. I wanted to consult her about the news I had overheard; I wanted to rake the beauty from her face with my own claws. But I remembered the scars on my own face, and decided to remain silent.

She smiled up at me, and beckoned me by her side. I did as I was told; Tilly was never a woman to anger. I've felt her wrath unleashed upon, when I first became a part of them, all those months ago. But I've learnt, and have promised myself to become just as powerful one day.

As I knelt beside her, she reached up and touched my cheek, my sorry scared cheek. Her thumb was gently brushing against each swollen scratch mark. Tilly was a little older than me, the oldest of all of us. She was one of the first, making her the strongest and most powerful than any of us. Though each day she smiled at me, called me "Sister" and stroked the wounds she gave me better, I knew in my heart she was no true friend to me. Shame. One day I will prove myself to her. But for now, I have to do as she says, as this pretty enchantress bids me.

Finally she spoke,

"I've two jobs for you, Bessie Smith" She reached into the pocket of her kirtle, which was torn and covered in dirt. She pulled out a fine pink ribbon – the one that belonged to a fellow sister, Brigitte. I could feel my face flood with colour, her worried face gave away she could see the anger rising,

"I've already spoken to you about this. I had to." Tilly murmured, holding the ribbon in front of my eyes,

"If I stayed with her, I would have been caught, and then what? You would have all been caught eventually. You, Tabitha, Prudence, all of you, would have been hung by now." With her free hand, she placed all of her long fingers around my neck gently, the ribbon still swaying in front of my eyes,

"Shame to ruin more pretty little necks, eh?" She let go of her loose grasp, sneering down on me, "You are to watch her hanging, it's soon, before the clock strikes one, so I am told. Keep an eye on that fool, if she sees you in the crowd, she will know that I sent for you, and she will be sure not to…." Tilly giggled again, as though she could imagine the body of a dear friend dangling from a tree. Another enemy, she kept close by like me, to perish. Watching the death of Brigitte would amuse her. She finished her sentence,

"To say anything stupid." I stood up again, eager to get this over and done with. I was not scared, nor unhappy. We were a cult of over 20, roaming this village without fear. But in the past year, many of us got caught, many of us betrayed each other, innocent souls paid our evil prices. Darling Brigitte was just another, to be sniffed out like a mere candle flame. Leaving us with a pitiful group of six.

But as I pulled myself onto my feet, she pulled harshly on my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. I had to bite my lip hard to stop me from screaming,

"You've _two_ errands, you fool. That was only one." Those black eyes of her sparkled like the night's sky, a dark blanket with scattered stars. She said nothing, and she did not need to. Her gaze left me, and looked over into the shadowy corner of the pit, a glistening of a blade catching my eye. At once I smirked,

"Who?" I said. Behind me where Tilly sat, I could hear a squeaking, the sound of her rodent familiar. I peered over my shoulder; a grey mouse was perched in her palm, a bead in its mouth. Tilly tapped the creature's head gently, making it let go of the possession it had clamped in its teeth, and it was a fine gem, an emerald. Tilly answered me,

"Any ideas?" I thought hard. My heart pounded inside my chest, as it did each time she asked this question. There were two rich families in this village, and I prayed in the deepest part of my soul it was not the family I once belonged to…

Merchant

Another girl died yesterday, on the charges against her founded by The Friluce, a group of witch-hunters for our village. I stood with my younger sister, Katheryn, amongst the crowd of villagers. We all shouted, "Witch! Burn in hell!" but gasped in shock at the sight of her. Her arms tied together by rope, wearing a dirty white gown, filthy with mud and blood. She was a pale little thing, trembling, her face crumpled in tears. They pulled her up the steps of the gallows, like a dog or wild beast. When she gazed at us, a cover of silence fell on us all. This girl looked no more than my age, lass of 15 summers. Pretty little thing as well, with a face of pure innocence.

"Filth in beauty" Katheryn muttered. I remained speechless, still in shock. I have never witnessed a witch trial before. I expected an old hag and her black cat to hop onstage, black smoke literally surrounding her like some poisoned mist. Yet stood in front of me was a child. And a foolish one of that,

"Brigitte Parker, you have been found guilty by The Friluce of Moonstone guilty of witchcraft, black sorcery and enchantment. As punishment, The Friluce have sentenced you be hung by the neck until dead, then your corpse burnt, your ashes left to rot." It wasn't like a normal trial, like the ones Father used to tell me about. If The Friluce found you guilty, with at least one piece of evidence strong enough to support them, then your fate was sealed. No trial needed, no death warrant, no chance to prove your innocence (if you were).

You were as good as dead.

And Brigitte was dead the moment they found her, only now was the time to kill her properly.

The masked leader of The Friluce stepped forward to place the rope around her thin neck, tugging at it harshly so she choked. I was expecting her to struggle, to shout, to scream. But she didn't, she remained still and silent. Before they opened the trapped door under her feet, they allowed a minute of silence, a way of wishing this corrupted soul well in the afterlife.

That is when she did her screaming,

"Ange Dechu! Ange Dechu!" All our eyes shot up to glare at her, people beginning to whisper in confusion. Though her arms were tied together, she pointed them ahead of her, to a lady in the crowd,

"She is a witch! Bessie, her! She is a witch!" Brigitte shouted, her voice horse from the rope that strangled her slightly. The crowd parted, all our heads craned to see whom she was referring to. The woman named Bessie looked no older than her, flowing blonde hair and pale white skin. Her gown was pale pink, her cheeks rosy from the cold breeze that blew. This Bessie just looked up at the screaming lady on the scaffold, an alarmed expression spread across her face,

"Forgive me, I do not know this woman," She said sweetly, battering her eyelashes. She reminded me of a porcelain doll I had in my bedchamber, fragile, sweet, and innocent. But Brigitte continued to protest,

"You're a witch!" she said, a voice desperate and rapid. But Bessie stood still, a sweet smile on her face. The crowd continued to stare at her; the leader of The Friluce stepped forward,

"Is this true?" He asked sternly, his shifty eyes staring at Brigitte through the mask hiding his face. We all stared at her too, eager to know. But her eyes shot over to Bessie, and her face once desperate turned scared, like she had seen a ghost. I could see her swallow hard,

"No…" She whispered, a hint o uncertainty or plea in her voice. He stood back, furious,

"Stop this nonsense at once! Kill her!" And at that moment, like a flash of lightening, the lever was pulled, the trap door fell, and her body dangled from the rope.

Moments later, Katheryn whispered in my ear,

"She's gone…" I groaned in slight frustration and anger at the sight of a dead body swaying in front of my very eyes, "Of course she is, she's dead" But Katheryn tugged hard on the sleeve of my cloak,

"I mean that _Bessie_ girl has gone" I gazed over my shoulder at where the falsely accused maiden once stood, to find my sister had spoken the truth. And although, looking back, it wasn't a thing that should have bothered me; I still found it suspicious…

Smith

"Fool!" Tabitha spluttered through clenched teeth. She dug her sharp nails into the wall of the pit, and dragged them down, realising her frustration like a cat in fury. In the darkness, I could see the deep scratch marks left in the mud by her wrath,

"Fool!" She repeated, pacing back at forwards, her hand clenching her forehead. Each step she took made the hem of her kirtle sway and brush against the dirt of the floor. Tabitha was another friend of mine, one I could truly call a sister. We shared a close bond; her youth made her the ambitious of us all. When I first met her, she was like an idle child, sitting by the waterfalls of angel showers, grazing by the blooming daffodils – which reminds me often of a person who was once close to me.

Eventually, she blossomed into one of us, a mysterious and dark appearance, a smile reeking dangerous beauty. Sometimes, I like to think my little sweethearts have grown into something similar yet different…

"Even I hope she burns in hell!" Tabitha continued. She glared at me with beady eyes,

"You denied the claims made, didn't you?" She asked. I nodded, a comforting grin overthrowing my lips,

"Of course, we have nothing to fear. You are lucky I was there, to watch her hang. She shouted our very name, before pointing at me and calling me a witch. But I smiled, a gown suited for a virgin on my very back, who could call me a witch?" Titha managed to laugh, though it was short and quiet,

"Honestly, Brigitte _must_ have said more? She wouldn't let you - any of us, slip away easily. What did you do?" I reached into my basket, the one I had taken with me to the hanging. Carefully, I pulled out a whetted dagger, the blade glistening in the moonlight. I waved it slowly in front of her face,

"Why, she almost nearly did. But I revealed this, and her mouth shut tight at once. You're right, she is a fool. She was dead either way, but for some reason my sharp friend here certainly kept our secrets safe," I laughed, doing my best to assure her,

"I wouldn't have let her have her way," I whispered, returning the dagger to its bed in my basket. Tabitha's smile revealed two rows of sharp white teeth, gums black with dirt,

"And the other girl? The one you were summoned to distinguish?" My smirk did not leave my face,

"That emerald of hers now rests in a blanket of her blood." And to prove I had done the deed, I thrusted a damp napkin into her hand, drenched in the dead girls blood,

"Burn it once you're satisfied." I warned her. I could hear her cackle quietly, "Oh, I am satisfied. Have no fear of that…"

Merchant

I rode out to the fields of tundra as the sun began to set behind the trees of the forsaken forest beyond. It was peaceful, the clouds starting to fade as the sky turned an enchanting colour of purple in the presence of twilight. Tundra was a vast wilderness of grasslands, moist with morning dew. In the evening's, it was covered in a veil of frost, like a magical field in a persons dream.

I jumped of my horse, taking her reigns gently and guiding her to the centre of the field. She was my favourite horse, old Grace; she always kept me company when my sister was not around. I stroked her fur covered back, ushering her to lie down. When she obeyed, I knelt at her side, resting my head softly on her broad neck, snuggling for warmth in my white fur cloak.

One star was already beginning to shine above me, twinkling gracefully. The only sound to be heard was the whistles of the wind. I closed my eyes, opening them to find the moon high above me in a rich black sky. I took a deep breath, remembering all the times I had spent out here. Elizabeth brought me here as a child, and mother and father always used to have picnics here. Katheryn and I would ride out here regularly, playing childish games to get away from the corrupted hassle of Moonstone. I sat silently, gazing up towards the moon. I wondered what it was like, to live amongst the stars. I wondered what else was up there, a whole new world just waiting to be discovered. No one could deny the night skies dark beauty,

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice said. I looked around me startled, to find a lad stood behind me. He was young and very handsome. In the silver rays of the moonlight, I could see he had two green eyes, and messy blonde hair. He was broad and tall; he looked strong but not too muscular. I smiled up at him, and nodded,

"Yes". He smiled back, anxiously gazing down at me. His eyes met mine, and I could feel something stir inside of me. In my mind, I thought 'who is he? Why is it I haven't seen him before?' I tore my eyes away, slightly embarrassed to show my face flood with colour,

"Who are you stranger?" He asked, perching himself next to me, like a friend I might have known since birth. I continued to stare elsewhere,

"I'm no stranger, _you're the_ stranger" I persisted in a small voice. The boy chuckled, "I'm no stranger either milady. My name is William Charleston." As though by magic, the tension I had felt slipped away, and I was able to face him without blushing. Instead of hiding my face, I kept my lips curved in a vivacious smile,

"William" I muttered in reply. He nodded. I was struck for words. Moonstone had been my home, my birthplace; it was like a diamond embedded deep in the cushions of my heart. Who was this stranger, William? Never in all my years had I ever laid eyes on him before. The way he stared at me made it obvious he understood my confused expression,

"I only ever come out at night, when the moon is shining in her full glory," He explained. Inside my mind I was secretly laughing, he depicted himself as a mystical creature, like a werewolf. I decided to respond stubbornly,

"What, so you can howl?" William's face failed to subside in some sort of reaction to my rude reply. Instead he simply shook his head, "Nope, nothing like that at all." I noticed he was clutching a hat with a long feathered pin attached to it in his hand. With his other hand, he reached into the pocket of his fur coat, pulling out a scroll of parchment. He placed the hat on his head, and removed the feather, to reveal some sort of quill. I laughed in slight amusement, the corner of his mouth curved into a cheeky smirk,

"I come out here to find peace. To write about the Moon, about the things I see, the things I feel here…" "Like sonnets?" I asked, suddenly curious to learn more about him. William Charleston unrolled his little scroll of parchment, in the silver rays of the moonlight; I could see his handwriting scribbled finely across the page. His face, once glaring down at his work, now stared up at me, his lips still wearing a charmingly soft grin, "Yes, _exactly_ like sonnets. I try, put it that way. Mainly poems…" I winced in the poor light as I attempted to read what was written on the parchment, but it was too dark for my eyes to see well. I could hear him shuffling by my side, the shape of his face distinctive as the shining stars twinkled above. I breathed slowly,

"What would you write about me?" I could hear him laugh silently, "I'm sure I would be lost for words…" My heart raced faster, I hoped he was not being kind, or at least _too_ kind. I laughed back, "You're too modest…." I protested quietly. His eyes sparkled like emeralds; "Fine" He shifted his body in my direction, and I could feel the warmth of his fingers brush my hand as he gazed into my eyes. He cleared his throat, and smiled,

"_How doth thy known?_

_The power ye have over me,_

_My heart is ablaze and being set free,_

_Your face in the moonlight shown._

_Full lips and a tempting kiss to draw me in,_

_A goddess of beauty bound,_

_One glance makes my heart pound,_

_In a gentle chest of skin._" One part of me wanted to laugh, in nervousness… in embarrassment. Another wanted to tell him he may have been right too warn me of his apparent failure. But most of me was tempted to touch his lips with mine.


End file.
